


The Last Breath of a Demon

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Light Leash Play, Season/Series 08, Super Light Breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything snaps abruptly into focus. One moment, Meg Masters is fading. The next, she is on a couch and Castiel is watching her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Breath of a Demon

**Author's Note:**

> My first try at Supernatural fic. *waves* Hope you like!
> 
> Heavy spoilers for 8.17 - Goodbye Stranger

The death of a demon should be more violent. But it feels like the start of a dream. A flash of flame is followed by a slow descent into darkness. The night streets fade behind slipping eyelids, and the demon's consciousness swims out of her falling vessel. The demon quite liked this one. She feels a sense of loss as she fades from skin and bone. Her abandoned body shatters to the pavement.

The demon floats into the evening chill, past the King of Hades. She lingers just long enough to whisper past headlights, above the revving motor of the black Impala. Two sets of eyes are turned towards her corpse. Two sets of human eyes. No unicorn.

The demon drifts into nothingness with one final sigh.

Everything snaps abruptly into focus.

Meg is in a room. It’s a dingy room, with cracked wooden walls and tacky yellow carpet. She is sitting on a green couch. It's a familiar couch, she sat on it this afternoon while she chugged Jack Daniels straight from the bottle.

There is a TV against the wall. It looks like a model from the 1970s, with a wooden frame and clumsy metal twist knobs. A coffee table sits in front of her. There is a box of pizza on top. The box is open, sausage and peppers.

Meg looks at her hands – her human hands, clean and intact. One of these hands reaches for her own hair. She finds dark brown strands, not the bleached blonde bad joke forced on her by the King of Hell.

In the chair next to her couch sits the angel. His elbows are propped on his knees, and he leans forward to study her. His tie dangles between his open legs.

Meg allows herself to drink him up with her eyes. His posture, like everything about him, is effortlessly suggestive. She thinks back to this afternoon, when she was alive and well. Her Tinkerbell tended to her like she was actually worth a damn. Sweet little sap.

"You're a little good and a little bad, Clarence," she muses. "What's the deal? Are you welcoming me upstairs or down?"

"This is your last breath," Castiel replies.

Meg's brow quirks. "My last breath, hm?" She looks around. "What's with the retro vibe? If this is it, I'll spring for a penthouse at the Ritz."

"It is your last breath, I can't explain." Castiel looks around, brow creased thoughtfully. "But I would imagine it is a place that implies simpler times."

"Simple. That's one way of putting it."

But Meg gets it. The room is basic, no frills. It reminds her of better days, when good was good and bad was bad. She misses those days. Everyone played their roles, and things made way more sense.

"So, I've got TV, pizza, and my favorite tree topper." She chuckles. "What a way to go." Castiel just watches her, folding his hands between his knees.

Meg's mouth twitches. "Now I know it's my lucky day." At Castiel's confusion, she leans towards him. "You're not talking."

His head remains tilted until she grabs his thighs and covers his mouth with hers. Then, Meg feels him move. He sinks back into his chair and guides her to straddle his lap. His hands drag slow and heavy up her back. 

"It's not you," Meg says, a little fond, a little sad. She runs fingers down his cheek. "You've got human eyes. You taste like skin."

Her last breath, this memory, returns her smile. "I don't see blackness," he replies. "I don't taste sulfur."

Meg never really thought about the angel's ability to see and feel her real form. But then, she doubts he stopped to consider her perspective either. Looking into his eyes, his true eyes, is like staring at a supernova. She could feel the celestial energy burning in his hands.

Castiel, by his standards, looks amused. "Did you bring me here to talk?" he asks

The vision definitely has Meg's attention now.

Meg sinks more of her weight into his lap, knees sliding under his trenchcoat. She claims his mouth again. Her hands are on his hair and body, making a mess of everything. His fingers swarm her back, urging her weight to grind into his waist. She can already feel his want hardening in his slacks.

She laughs. This pizza man, what a miracle worker.

"Is this the furniture you want moved around?" Castiel asks. He looks pensively back at the chair they are seated on.

"Not sure how much time I've got, Clarence," she replies. "Fast and easy might have to be the way this goes."

"Ok," he says. Because, of course he says that.

She pushes his coat off his shoulders and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls hers over her head - smooth as can be. Leave it to Meg to give herself the gift of a fully capable Cas.

She winds his tie around her hand and yanks it hard. He grunts his surprise and jerks forward, his mouth crushing painfully to hers. Meg misses the sizzle of his grace on her tongue. And how fever-hot his skin would feel to her, pulsing with his essence.

But Meg can live with this too. Or, die with it.

Castiel unclasps her bra with a pinch. Oh yes, Meg likes this version of her little angel. She shrugs out of the straps, impatiently ripping through the rest of his shirt buttons so she can feel his chest on hers. He twists his shoulders to get out of the garment.

Meg leaves the tie right where it is, loosely knotted around his neck. She likes it, she decides. It's allowed to stay. His pants, however, are another story. Meg slides off his body and down between his knees. She rips off his belt and claws impatiently at his zipper.

When she glances up, Castiel is watching her with a hint of a smile. His eyes are warm with desire and something bordering too closely on affection.

"Shut up," Meg says. Then, she returns to the task of his pants and underwear. She yanks and pulls until Castiel relents and pushes himself up from the chair. At this angle, it is easy to get his slacks to his ankles. Meg rips off his shoes and socks, tossing both aside. And finally, the pants and shorts are done for.

Victorious, Meg smirks at him. He sits naked on the chair, clothed only by the tie hanging loosely on his chest. What a view. She stands and starts on her own jeans. 

This is her last breath, but it still surprises Meg when Castiel does not wait for her. As soon as she undoes her zipper, the angel wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him. His mouth touches just above her waistline, then continues down between the zipper part, pressed against the soft fabric of her underwear. 

"What happened to patience is a virtue?" Meg teases.

Castiel looks up at her. "You did not bring me here to be virtuous."

This version of her tree-topper is delightfully on point. Meg pushes out of her jeans without further delay. She lets him embrace her waist and explore her panties with his lips. He traces the stitching curiously, then ducks his head down to the center. She feels his breaths, hot and interested, between her thighs. 

"You weren't kidding when you said you knew how to made a woman's nethers quiver," she says. 

"I was stationed on Earth with the garrison," Castiel murmurs. His voice rumbles low between her legs. Meg's human form responds instantly. Giving up control isn't really Meg's thing. But she must have a soft spot for her little angel, because she stays still and lets herself enjoy what his mouth is doing to her.

"We watched many things," Castiel adds.

"Lots of amateur porn, huh?" Meg runs her hands through his hair. But then, Meg has a better idea. Her fingers stray beneath his jaw.

Gently, Meg tips Castiel's chin up to face her. He does so, eyes large and curious.

Without warning, she snakes her hand around his tie and yanks. Castiel's head snaps forward violently. He hisses, caught off guard. Meg expects anger, or at least indignation. To think, an angel of the Lord being treated this way. By a demon, no less.

Castiel's eyes darken, but not from rage. Meg watches this shift in mood with fascination. "Put up or shut up, Clarence," she says.

She does not have to ask twice.

Castiel pushes her panties down to her feet and latches hands on her waist. He angles his body to slide between her legs again. Uncovered and exposed, Castiel's mouth is free to run over the soft lips of her cunt. Meg half-hums, half-laughs.

If only she'd gotten this response the first time she challenged Castiel to put his money where his mouth was. But, that was crazy-town Cas, the one who liked bees and disliked unhappy dogs. The result wouldn’t have been anything like this.

Meg digs her fingers through his hair, wrecking it completely and not caring at all. Castiel's tongue dips into her, tasting without hesitation. His mouth is curious but insistent, and his breaths burst hot and fast against her. Meg can feel his light stubble rubbing between her thighs. She - a demon - jumps at the friction.

"You're a quick study," she breathes. His response is to shift his head back just enough to curl his lips around her clit. His tongue drags over her in a slow, intrigued circle. Meg gasps, and her body wavers. Pinpricks trickle deliciously through her veins.

"Easy," Meg says. She finds his tie and gives it a tug. Castiel lifts his head obediently.

If only they had more time, the things she would do to him…

"We only get one shot at this," Meg says. "I want the kitchen sink."

The fool tilts his head adorably. "That may be difficult and very uncomfortable-"

"This place has a bedroom. Fuck me in it, genius." Meg steps back from him. Just far enough to yank his tie like a leash.

He stands up for her, amazing. Meg shoots a hungry look down his body, his cock a deep blush over a bed of dark curls.

Meg licks her lips. Then, she meets his eyes and gives his tie another pull. Castiel's eyes, already dark, glint with something even more dangerous.

Meg is breathing out a shaking breath when Castiel closes their distance and kisses her. Her body feels hot against his, breasts pressed firmly to his chest. His cock pushes against her, making her shiver with anticipation.

Castiel moves her with strong, guiding hands, maneuvering towards the bedroom. Lack of control be damned, Meg is more than happy to be led by this version of her unicorn. The one who knows exactly what he wants.

They both know where the bedroom is despite never being here before. It's a nothing room, wood paneling on the walls and off-white carpets. There is a sliding door to the backyard covered by wall-length blinds.

The bed is king-sized with an ugly pea-green quilt and flat pillows. Castiel pushes her down on it, then climbs onto her. He pins one of her arms above her head. His other hand pushes her thighs apart. He fits his body between her legs as his mouth covers hers again.

Meg could get used to this forceful take on her angel. She rakes her free hand through his hair and down his body. Castiel's tie hangs down on her, a ghosting presence against her breasts, It's too much of a distraction to ignore. She winds it around her hand and gives it a tug. The action earns the most delightful sound, somewhere between struggle and warning.

When he presses into her, she moans - decorum be damned - and winds her legs lazily around his waist. This may not be the real thing, but my oh my, it was worth the wait.

She lifts her hips towards his. In this one and only time, Meg is not worried about pain. She is worried about not getting everything she wants before her time is up. Urging him on, Meg hooks her fingers under the tie around his neck. She pulls right at the throat until his breaths stutter against her lips.

A normal angel - or, well, anyone - would be flat out murderous. Castiel _groans_. The sound shoots straight between her legs. 

Castiel is thick inside her. Meg has to spread her legs wider to accommodate him. The slow grind of his waist against hers is more intoxicating than anything a demon has the right to feel.

...Wait, is Meg actually on a self-loathing trip? Those damn Winchesters ruined her life.

It's no surprise to Meg that Castiel is quiet. If anything, his silent stoicism amplifies the act. Every once in awhile, his exhales shiver and quicken. And at rare moments, he responds with a sound, something short and strained as he presses deeper into her.

His muted enjoyment makes Meg prompt him, "Tell me you want me." Her voice is unsteady, wavering towards the blissful end she can feel trembling through every inch of her body.

"I want you." He repeats the words without hesitation. Meg catches his eyes, momentarily soft.

Meg snakes her fingers to the back of Castiel's neck. She draws him to her and whispers against his lips, "Tell me you'll miss me."

This is not repeated immediately, but Meg does not want it to be. She wants his pause, his shaking inhale.

She wants Castiel to kiss her. His eyes shut under something that must be emotion, as close to genuine as she can create in this final moment of existence.

When Castiel looks at her again, she knows he can see her. The real her. He isn't afraid or disgusted. He doesn't judge her.

"I'll miss you," he says.

There is a blinding flash, white light and static noise. Meg throws her head back and cries out. Heartbeats fade to black.

Everything is still.

***

At the Milwaukee Biggerson's, Castiel lifts his head. He feels something in the corner of his consciousness. A sound - but what? Has his location been discovered already? Does he need to run?

No, not yet. What he felt was not the tremor of approaching angels. It was something new, something never experienced before.

"Oh hon, you ok?" Castiel's gaze shifts up towards the waitress with the messy bob. She is leaning down to look at him with concern.

"I'm fine. I..." Curiously, Castiel drags a finger under his right eye. It comes away wet. He looks at it, expecting blood. But it isn't.

...A tear?

Unsure, he looks at the waitress. "Yes. I'm ok, I think."

The waitress gives him a sympathetic nod and pushes the napkin holder on the table closer to him. "What would you say to a slice of our famous Apple Pie? On the house. It'll cheer you right up."

Castiel has learned to appreciate the healing properties of pie. But he does not know if he can stay in Milwaukee long enough for a taste. Still, he can't bring himself to try to explain his dilemma to the waitress with the kind face.

He nods, in what he hopes is a human-looking show of gratitude. "Yes, I would like that. Thank you."

His attempt is apparently satisfactory. The waitress smiles and departs, leaving Castiel to take a napkin and press it gently under his eye. Thoughtfully, he observes the stain of wetness left behind.

Castiel looks out a window. "Goodbye, Meg," he says.

He does not have much time before he will need to run again. Naomi and her supporters will come for the tablet.

But he has a few minutes. In these minutes, Castiel lowers his head and allows himself to miss her.

*The End*


End file.
